for the kin of the night
beyond explanatation.
Some things are beyond explanation. Or rather, none of the explanations are entirely satisfactory, and a complete mystery remains.
One such mystery is something very small and seemingly insignificant, and yet it is a constant reminder that there are things which are beyond our mundane world.
It was something that happened when i was a kid - I don't remember just how old, but I must have been quite young because it was when my sister and I shared a bunk bed - before our father built a dividing wall (the divider was built when i was ten). I think i was maybe six or seven at the time.
My sister and I were both convinced our house was haunted, and were constantly plagued by terrifying nightmares, so we had a night light. It was a very chherfull and whimsical thing - a squirrel sitting on a log holding a hazelnut. it was faintly transluscent, so the bulb inside made it glow a warm comforting orange. not a bright light, but a comfort in the winter nights.
Our parents always made us go to bed at 7pm, which was way too early for any child, and throughout the summer we would spend a few hours playing or reading - but in the winter it was too dark to do anything but talk to each other and tell each other jokes and stories.
On this particular night, we were talking whilst staring intensely at the glowing squirrel - I think we were discussing whether or not our toys come out to play with each other when we go to sleep.
Then to my amazement, as i lay watching from the top bunk, the squirrel slowly turned it's head to look face to face at my sister on the bottom bunk.
"Did you see that?" my sister said, and the head emediately snapped back into it's original position. "the squirrel moved!"
The squirrel part of the lamp was cast from one solid piece - there were no joints or movable parts - yet we both saw it move. For two young children, this just affirmed that there was indeed magic in the world, and that fairy tales are true.
Over the years I came to believe i just imagined it, or that it was just a dream. after all, it couldnt possibly have really happened.
Then one day, many years later when i was in my mid thirties, I was visiting my sister and her children, and we were reminising about our childhood. As we were talking abouour favourite childhood toys, she mentioned how fond she always was of the old squirrel lamp. A chill ran down my spine when she suddenly blurted "Remember that night we saw it's head move?
It wasn't a dream - she remem it too, and with the e crystal clarity that i remember it.
The amazing thing is, that not only did she remeber it, she admitted it. We saw and heard a lot of strange things in our childhood, but my sister's usual reaction was to deny it, shut it out, and refuse to admit it ever happened. but that event was one she had kept.
So what happened? What is the explanation?
One explanation is that somehow we had both shared the same halucination. I've never accepted the existence of shared halucination, because it's an oximoron. halucinations are subjective - if it's a consensual experience, then it is not an halucination.
Had we both actually drifted off to slepp, and due to our closeness both expereinced the same dream? That's on the fringe of possibility - but then you have to accept that two people can share the same dream, which is already delving into the realm of the supernatural.
That leaves us with one thing. An inanimate object moved of its own volition in a way that is not physically possible (ie - it's a solid object, not flexible).
Clearly, reality is not what it seems. In other words - there is no spoon.
One such mystery is something very small and seemingly insignificant, and yet it is a constant reminder that there are things which are beyond our mundane world.
It was something that happened when i was a kid - I don't remember just how old, but I must have been quite young because it was when my sister and I shared a bunk bed - before our father built a dividing wall (the divider was built when i was ten). I think i was maybe six or seven at the time.
My sister and I were both convinced our house was haunted, and were constantly plagued by terrifying nightmares, so we had a night light. It was a very chherfull and whimsical thing - a squirrel sitting on a log holding a hazelnut. it was faintly transluscent, so the bulb inside made it glow a warm comforting orange. not a bright light, but a comfort in the winter nights.
Our parents always made us go to bed at 7pm, which was way too early for any child, and throughout the summer we would spend a few hours playing or reading - but in the winter it was too dark to do anything but talk to each other and tell each other jokes and stories.
On this particular night, we were talking whilst staring intensely at the glowing squirrel - I think we were discussing whether or not our toys come out to play with each other when we go to sleep.
Then to my amazement, as i lay watching from the top bunk, the squirrel slowly turned it's head to look face to face at my sister on the bottom bunk.
"Did you see that?" my sister said, and the head emediately snapped back into it's original position. "the squirrel moved!"
The squirrel part of the lamp was cast from one solid piece - there were no joints or movable parts - yet we both saw it move. For two young children, this just affirmed that there was indeed magic in the world, and that fairy tales are true.
Over the years I came to believe i just imagined it, or that it was just a dream. after all, it couldnt possibly have really happened.
Then one day, many years later when i was in my mid thirties, I was visiting my sister and her children, and we were reminising about our childhood. As we were talking abouour favourite childhood toys, she mentioned how fond she always was of the old squirrel lamp. A chill ran down my spine when she suddenly blurted "Remember that night we saw it's head move?
It wasn't a dream - she remem it too, and with the e crystal clarity that i remember it.
The amazing thing is, that not only did she remeber it, she admitted it. We saw and heard a lot of strange things in our childhood, but my sister's usual reaction was to deny it, shut it out, and refuse to admit it ever happened. but that event was one she had kept.
So what happened? What is the explanation?
One explanation is that somehow we had both shared the same halucination. I've never accepted the existence of shared halucination, because it's an oximoron. halucinations are subjective - if it's a consensual experience, then it is not an halucination.
Had we both actually drifted off to slepp, and due to our closeness both expereinced the same dream? That's on the fringe of possibility - but then you have to accept that two people can share the same dream, which is already delving into the realm of the supernatural.
That leaves us with one thing. An inanimate object moved of its own volition in a way that is not physically possible (ie - it's a solid object, not flexible).
Clearly, reality is not what it seems. In other words - there is no spoon.
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